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CXII.

Your love and pity doth the impreffion fill
Which vulgar fcandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all the world, and I must strive

To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive,

That

my fteel'd fenfe or changes right or wrong. In fo profound abyfm I throw all care

Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:

You are fo ftrongly in my purpose bred

That all the world befides methinks they 're dead.

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